


Reunion

by vaultboii



Series: anahardt [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reunion, just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7782835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet in the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

They meet in the kitchen.

He’s holding a coffee cup. His hands are wrapped gently around the fragile china; she knows he’s always too gentle with the small things, too gentle with objects that he’s afraid he’ll break in his clumsy grasp. Surprisingly, it looks fitting in the hands of the man, tiny against the steady grip of the behemoth. 

She notices she’s staring. She doesn’t fix her mistake.

“Reinhardt,” she says quietly, and it raises his shoulders.

He lumbers around slowly, hesitantly. She doesn’t blame him. Half the demons residing in this building she wished she could just erase away, almost like every life she wiped clean with the crack of a bullet.

Two old soldiers stand in the kitchen; a giant and a hunter, a defense and support. One who wishes to quit, and the other remains loyal to duty no matter what the cause. She almost laughs at the thought. _Loyal to the end._ They were opposites, and yet, here they were.

“Hello,” he answers softly, voice cracking with strain. “Ana.”

They sit down. She doesn’t remember where the table came from, or how they got at it, but they’re sitting across from each other, both of them holding mugs; she’s not sure where she got her tea. There are no smiles, only calm gazes, looking at each other as if trying to unveil /compare to the old selves they used to be. His gaze goes over her, and she returns it. His blind eye stares milky into hers.

She can still see the wrinkles in the man’s face from his smiles.

“How’s Torbjorn?” That’s the first thing that slips from her mouth, a question not worth answering or sparing thought. They both know she’s not here to ask about the others; she could merely walk down the hall from the kitchen and ask Mercy or the man himself, all stationed a short distance from here.

The giant answers anyway. “Fine, fine. The usual dwarfish grump.” He slightly smiles, and the wrinkles she noticed earlier shine out from his face. “Still kicking, as I got a harsh reminder yesterday.” He rubs his arm; a subtle bruise lines it, probably from the grump’s hammer no doubt.

“Ah.” She takes a sip of her tea, still bitter to her tongue. “Is he still close to Mercy?”

“Siblings by nature.” Reinhardt snickers, hushed to his normal booming chuckle. “Those two are still tight.”

“Pity. And I thought I could slip in somehow.” They’re falling back into the old routine, the teases, the flattery. _The flirting._ “And, how about his tall, handsome friend? Is he still available?”

“He is.” There’s the grin she knows, yet older and wiser than the past. “You’re still looking quite marvellous yourself.”

“You are much too kind.” She clicks her tongue, the compliment still getting to her hardened heart. Just like the past. “And I thought old men usually forget their chivalry.”

“For you, never.” He replies.

They both take a sip from their tea. Soldier 76 enters the kitchen quickly, sees them, and as just as fast, he leaves, nearly sprinting to get out under their ever-watchful eye.

Reinhardt’s grin increases. She tries to pretend hers didn’t too.

“So. Overwatch is finally created anew again.” She starts again, confident any eavesdropping listeners would grow tired of their chit-chat and drop away from the conversation. They talk as if the war hadn’t happened, that she hadn’t pretended to be dead, that nothing bad had ever occurred. “And I was starting to think that I could get some well-deserved rest.”

“No rest for us,” Reinhardt agrees, fingering his mug as if he wanted to drink from it, but was too afraid of breaking it to try. The giant finally settles for placing it on the table. “Shouldn’t be, in my personal opinion.”

“Still not intending to hang up that hammer?” She glances towards the wall, the direction she knows (and memorized) that leads to his quarters. She knows everyone’s quarters. She knows his the best.

“Why should I? Glory is still yet to be won!” He laughs, and she lets her lip curl upwards, almost forgetting herself in the past. He gets up in the midst of his enthusiasm, and strikes his famous victory pose, one she has seen over and over in all posters. “Justice shall be done!”

“Ah, my friend, you wouldn’t hang up that hammer even if one day it broke your back under its weight.” She snorts, staring at him right over her cup. _He still has the personality._ “One day, you’ll break something vital doing “hero work” and you know how fussy Doctor Ziegler gets about that.”

“Bah.” He waves a hand at her, and sits back down. “I will never do that.”

“Ah, ah, ah. You have. Six times.” She sets her cup down, and makes a show of counting on her fingers. “Once, you decided to take a test run in your not fully-functioning armour and smashed into a concrete wall, the only thing as stubborn as you are.”

“That was the one time,” he protests, but she’s not done yet with him. There’s still five more.

“Two, I told you not to boost trying to jump from one building to the other. You didn’t listen, and fell into a drug deal, scaring the dealers half to death. You broke your arm that time, yet you managed to capture them all.” She’s smiling now, remembering the memory of Reinhardt limping along with fourteen trembling druggies in tow, cradling his wounded arm with a serious tone.

“I had that completely under control-”

“-Three, you decided to save an omnic and child by taking a whole riot on _singlehandedly_.” She presses her middle finger down, getting up to walk near him. His face is growing red now, and she can see the rosy cheeks brighten vibrantly with contained embarrassment. “You shattered both your shield and one rib on that mission.”

“That one was controlled too-”

“Lies; you did not! Four!” She yells over his chuckles now, as the man laughs into his hands, face as bright as a cherry, as rosy as a pink diamond. “You decided to, quote by quote, ‘ _Careful, I’m going to pin him!_ ’ as you barrelled through ten brick pillars, breaking all supports and collapsing the museum on you and the enemy.”

The man’s wheezing now, looking up with a grin so shiny she can see her reflection in it. “I don’t remember that one-”

“That’s because it knocked you out for ten days and scared half of us to death!” She yells over him again, mockingly swatting him on the arm. “Five! You jumped off a pier to save a girl from falling off a boat! You forgot that the water was freezing, and you almost died due to hypothermia!”

He doesn’t protest this time, only chuckles louder. She’s grinning now, and she can’t seem to wipe it off her face.

“Six! You fell off a cliff! A **cliff!** The cliff was right there, and I told you, ‘ _Watch the cliff, Reinhardt._ ’ Then, five seconds later, I hear you yell and then there’s a thud as loud as a mini-nuke hitting!” She finishes her rant, and then swats him on the arm again. “It’s bad for my health worrying so much about you, idiot!”

He throws his head back and guffaws loudly; she finally joins in, and they stand there, basking in the old memories of the past. For the moment, everything seems alright.

And as quick as it comes, the moment is gone.

“I’ve missed you.” Reinhardt weakly says between breaths, and in that moment the mood is lost.

“As so have I.” She sobers immediately, trying to wrack her defenses back up, but they’ve always been down with him around. There is no laughter anymore, only short sad little smiles, too pitiful to be considered true. “I’ve missed you greatly.”

“You died on me.” The giant says, and now he holds out a fragile hand, strong but fragile in nature. She takes it, and they’re both trembling in each other’s palms, hands so fragile his fit so perfectly around hers. _Almost_ like the cup. Almost, but better. “I thought you died.”

“I had to.” She looks away, but a hand reaches up to her cheek, to pull her gaze back into his warm eyes. “There was too much, all at once-”

“I wish you would’ve told me earlier.” He interrupts, not angry, not violent. Calm is his voice, but it’s emotion-filled, and she can hear the sadness just brimming behind it. “We should’ve made it through together.”

“I know.” And she’s tearing up now, her one working eye deciding to finally show emotion she thought she lost a long time ago. “I just wish I-”

His hand gently traces her skin, stopping her from talking. It’s rough, and harsh, and just enough to shut her up. “I’m just happy you’re alive,” is all he says before he pulls her close, arms wrapping around her so gently she can feel the strength of them. They’re tense in grief, mighty against her. She can’t hug him back, but she buries her face into that t-shirt of his, placing her hands against his chest so she can feel his heart pumping. **_Alive._** He’s still alive. After all these years.

He is her greatest weakness. She wishes he couldn’t be sometimes. She wishes he could be there if she falls. She can count on him being there if she falls. Even so, he’s tied to war, and she’s tied to war, and the only love they can share is the comfort of each other as war rages on outside.

But, in moments like these, they can pretend like everything’s just the past, where demons were mythology and the only monsters were the enemies behind the trigger.

“I’m sorry.” She speaks into his shoulder, and he only makes a low hum in response, cradling her head, fingers brushing her hair in long strokes and trailing through the strands. "I'm so sorry." She repeats and it's almost enough to make it a little better. 

“I’ll always be with you.” He whispers, and that’s enough for her to bury herself deeper.

And when they cry, they cry for the past, present and future.

But, this time, they’ll do it together.


End file.
